


Unknown Pleasures

by dollylux



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Choking, Dry Sex, Eating Disorders, Feminization, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Snuff Films, Underage Sex, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism, Watersports, Yeah This One's Pretty Fucked Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7809784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared's journey as a sexual deviant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unknown Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homo_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/gifts), [Exaggerated_Specificity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/gifts), [saltandbyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/gifts).



> **Read the warnings. Please.**
> 
>  
> 
> (for you<3)

“Alright, half an hour, and then we go outside for recess. How many minutes is half an hour?”

“Thirty minutes,” a few kiss-asses respond dutifully. Ms. Harper smiles and retreats to her desk at the head of the classroom, leaving the students to their own devices.

Jared looks around at the four other kids he’s supposed to be spending the next half-hour-thirty-minutes with, his sharp eyes assessing them while they all watch him nervously.

At only five years old and on the first day of kindergarten, Jared still commands respect.

“I’m the Daddy,” he announces, no room for argument. The three other boys and one girl nod, obviously. One of the boys leans on the toy kitchen sink.

“She’s the Mommy,” the red-headed boy says, pointing at the little girl with dark eyes and darker hair smirking back at him.

“I don’t wanna be the Mommy.” She cuts her eyes over at the boy, raising her eyebrows under her straight bangs and putting a hand on her hip, jelly bracelets falling around her bony wrist. “I want to be the pool boy.”

“But we don’t even have a--” Red starts.

“ _You’re_ the Mommy,” Jared interrupts, pointing to the quiet, blue-eyed thing still leaning on the sink, running his fingers over the plastic fruit. “Come here.”

“Boys can’t be mommies!” Red exclaims even as Jared’s shy new wife shuffles over to his side. “And we _don’t have a pool_!”

“Go to the bedroom and wait for me,” Jared tells his wife quietly, running a hand over the boy’s bird-thin arm and searching his eyes like a good husband. He turns his attention back to the argumentative one and the other uninteresting boy and raises his eyebrows. “And you two are our sons. Go make us some dinner while your Mommy and I make another baby. We want pizza. And guacamole.”

“What do I do?” The pool boy has gathered up a toy boat and a plastic baseball bat and looks fully confident in her finds.

“What’s your name?” Jared asks.

“Erica,” she says.

Jared grins.

“Keep the boys in line,” he tells her.

She smirks, tightening her grip on the bat.

“Got it.”

 

“What color?”

Jared looks over at the line of polishes Erica has set up meticulously for Jared’s inspection, ordering them from red all the way through the rainbow to pink. He squints over at them in the high afternoon sun from his pillowed sprawl on the comforter from his bed right in the middle of the backyard, taking his time and looking at every single color before he decides.

“That one,” he says, touching a finger to the Barbie pink, third from the last.

Erica grins from behind her matching pink heart-shaped glasses and grabs up the nail polish, shaking it by beating it against the heel of her hand.

“Good choice,” she tells him authoritatively. Her teenage cousin had stayed with her family for two weeks, and by the time she left, ten-year-old Erica had become an expert in all things beauty and is now eager to try out her education.

And Jared enjoys being pampered.

He rests a hand on her thigh while she paints his nails slow and careful with a steady hand, the polish going on strangely cold on the hot summer day. She’s working on his left hand and he’s practically dozed off when she stops, her small hands still holding onto his long fingers.

“Hn?” Jared manages.

“He’s watching us,” she says quietly.

Jared, lazy as a cat and loath to stir, keeps his eyes closed even as his curiosity is piqued.

“Who is?”

“That boy who lives next door,” she replies, resuming her work, focusing on his pinky. “The little one. Dylan.”

Dylan is seven and has big, tousled dirty blonde curls and eyes the same color as Erica’s “Play With My Mint” nail polish, and Jared has never heard him say a word, even when he and his older brother come over to play. 

Jared stretches out on the blanket, letting his legs sprawl a little more, dragging one foot up so that his knee is bent and his basketball shorts fall back on his tan thigh.

“Invite him over,” he tells her.

 

Dylan joins them on the blanket after some seriously sweet coercion from Erica, and he tucks into the smallest corner of it with his little legs under him, his cheeks flame red, his mint eyes decidedly down.

Jared’s eyes are open now.

“Let her paint your nails,” he says to him, blowing carefully on his own to get them to dry faster. “She’s really good.”

“Boys don’t paint their nails,” Dylan practically whispers, his delicate hands twisting in his lap.

“Mine are painted,” Jared shrugs, holding up one of his hands to show him. 

“You can pick the color,” Erica offers, fixing the line of her polishes again for Dylan’s perusal. He shuffles forward on the blanket and leans over to peer closely at the polishes, taking what feels like forever before he lights one virgin-nailed finger on a bottle.

The palest, softest lavender.

Jared smiles, pleased. He relaxes back against the pillow and closes his eyes again, feeling Dylan’s watching him and basking under the attention more than the sun.

 

An hour later, they all have freshly painted, dry nails, and Dylan is drinking sweet lemonade from a straw under Jared’s watchful eye. Erica has fallen quiet, tucking all her polishes back into her Caboodle with a smile, like she’s pleased with Jared’s new pet.

“Has anybody ever done your hair?” she asks the boy, unzipping a pouch full of scrunchies and combs and bright plastic barrettes. He pinks up again, his eyes widening as he sucks hollow-cheeked from his drink.

He’s lost his words again, can only shake his head _no_. Jared chews on his bottom lip and turns back to his Nintendo DS. His dick feels achy and stiff between his legs.

 

Dylan’s curls are twisted up and pinned back with sparkly butterflies, and he’s wearing Erica’s sunglasses by the time they retreat to the Padaleckis’ basement to watch a movie. Erica puts Jared’s mom’s old VHS copy of _Pretty Woman_ into the VCR, and she climbs up onto the couch and sprawls out, leaving Jared and Dylan to squish up together in the recliner, Dylan’s tiny weight mostly settled on Jared’s lap and on his dick, something that has them both flushed and quiet by the time the credits roll.

Dylan stays for dinner, still prettied up and wordless, and Erica pulls Jared aside after ice cream, her dark eyes flashing with some kind of ancient knowledge that has Jared’s skin tingling.

“Walk him home,” she whispers.

He can feel her watching from the window as he leads Dylan out the sliding door and into the backyard, his hand on the boy’s back just like he’d seen Richard Gere do to Julia Roberts.

“Can I see it?” Dylan asks, sudden and breathless, spinning around right under the maple tree that separates their houses, safe in the shadows.

Jared feels tall and dark and dangerous, his heart hammering in his chest.

“See what?” he asks.

“Your thing.” Dylan’s pale eyes flick down to the front of Jared’s shorts, his tongue flicking out over his Barbie-pink mouth, wet and nervous. “Your… your penis.”

Jared’s pupils are wide in the growing dark but he can’t blink, can’t take his eyes off of Dylan for a single second as he steps forward, invading his space.

“Get on your knees,” he tells him, quiet in case anybody is nearby.

Dylan scrambles to his knees, his little pastel-tipped fingers fanning out on his thighs as he sinks down, staring up at Jared eagerly, his soft mouth parted enough for Jared to finger, if he wanted to.

He pushes his shorts and his underwear down to his thighs, tugging up on his shirt and shifting his hips out so his limp little cock is the most prominent thing about him. Dylan’s eyes flash even bigger, and he’s shuffling forward to get closer, so close that Jared can feel the hot wash of his breath.

“Can I kiss it?” Dylan whispers in a breathless shudder, licking his lips with a slick tongue and watching the way Jared’s long fingers dip down to play with it, to squeeze and grip it to try and make it get bigger.

“Say please,” Jared replies.

“Please,” Dylan sighs, in raptures by the time Jared gets his left hand at the back of Dylan’s head and draws him forward, pulling until Dylan’s rosy little mouth is bumping at his dick.

“Do it. Kiss it.” He smacks Dylan’s bottom lip with his chubby cock, loving the sound of it almost as much as he loves the warm wet feel of Dylan’s hungry mouth as it starts to kiss all over the head of his dick.

He guides him to kiss it all over, to kiss underneath it and at his shaky, flat belly, and he’s breathing hard as he fattens up in his own hand, as an urge overtakes him and he can’t do anything but follow his instincts, but tighten his grip at the back of Dylan’s head and crowd in tight against him.

“Open your mouth,” he manages, forcing the tip of his dick just between Dylan’s heartglasses-pink lips before he finally just lets go, letting out a low, relieved groan as he starts to piss inside of Dylan’s mouth.

Dylan whimpers as the piss quickly fills his mouth and overflows in a pale yellow stream down his chin and the front of his shirt, but Jared holds fast, keeping him right here, on his knees and taking it. He aims back up and splashes it all over Dylan’s face, soaking his long dark eyelashes and Erica’s butterflies and down the pale, fragile line of his throat.

He slaps Dylan’s face with his dick when the stream is nothing but a trickle, not wasting a drop, making sure it soaks into some part of Dylan, marking him, owning him.

 _Mine_ , his mind demands in a low growl he won’t possess for years.

“Swallow it,” he orders, giving Dylan’s little head a shake with his grip on those curls. Dylan shudders as he struggles to obey, his little piss-soaked lashes sending teary streaks down his cheeks as his eyes close. He loosens his hand and starts to pet Dylan then, stroking his curls back into fullness while Dylan leans heavy against him, quiet like he’s asleep.

“Kiss it goodbye,” Jared says softly.

Dylan sniffles and reaches up to wipe his face before he tips his head to the side and presses a tiny, shy kiss to the side of Jared’s dick, those bright green eyes finding his own immediately after, seeking approval.

“Good,” he tells him, his voice warm. 

Dylan stands up while Jared fixes his shorts again, not wiping his face anymore, just letting the piss drip and slide all over him, letting it soak into his skin where his shirt is drenched. He lingers so close to Jared, almost like he wants to hug him.

“Rinse off with the waterhose before you go in the house,” Jared tells him as a goodbye, and when he steps away Dylan falters, stumbling once before righting himself. He nods, almost to himself, and he disappears into the shadows and to his own yard, leaving Jared with an empty bladder and a new hobby.

Erica is still at the window when Jared returns to the house, and her smirk tells him everything he needs to know.

He grins right back at her, shaking his head as he hurries to the back door.

 

“Aw, Jared, look,” Sherri says the next morning as they pile into the car to head to the swimming pool. “I think little Dylan’s trying to get your attention.”

Jared stops before climbing into the back seat next to Erica and turns to look at the Andersons’ house. Dylan is there with his own mother on the front porch, and Jared can see Dylan’s flushed face and his bashful smile from here. He waves and Dylan waves back, a pageant wiggle of his fingers that make a third grader look like a pinup. 

Jared slides into the car, one of his dimples dug in deep while Erica grins beside him, and he’s very aware of his dick right now, of the power he feels because of it.

Something shifts in him, darkens.

 

Jared’s in love.

His name’s Daniel and he’s a transfer from some shit-poor town in Georgia that grows starved, thin boys with long blonde hair who wear Echo and the Bunnymen shirts and hoodies to cover their ghost-pale, slice-scarred arms.

“I want to eat him out,” Jared sighs from his sprawl on Erica’s bed, high on _Unknown Pleasures_ and weed stolen from her brother’s sock drawer. “I bet he tastes like strawberry milk.”

Erica snorts as she brushes her newly platinum hair from upside down, and her face is blood-red when she flips back over, letting it all settle wild and fluffed around her shoulders before she sets in to tame it with her fingers.

“I don’t think he showers,” she tells him, usually one for allowing him his indulgences, but he’s been obsessing over Daniel for a month now, and she’s a little tired of it. “He probably tastes like BO and ball sweat.”

“Did you see what he had for lunch today?” He twists his head to look at her, talking louder than his usual mumble to be heard over Ian Curtis. “A few bites of a roll and three grapes from Jennifer A.’s tray. That’s it.”

“He’ll be in the hospital by Christmas,” she says, warm and sweet like it’s a compliment. She’s being very careful with her eyeliner now, the second wing turning out exactly like the first one. “Your Mandingo dick would tear him in half.”

He sighs, hurt-whiny and real.

“Let me wear your Joy Division shirt tonight,” he says suddenly, turning over on the bed, the long dark strands of his hair falling around his face before he shakes them away. “Please?”

“You are so pathetic!” she exclaims, but her dark purple mouth is practically beaming when she turns to look at him from her perch in front of the makeup-strewn vanity. “It’s so cute.”

She pulls the shirt off over her head, leaving her in a lacy black bra and her carefully destroyed jeans. The shirt lands on Jared’s head a second later, smelling of roses and stolen cigarettes.

“You love me,” he says after he pulls the shirt over his head and tugs it down his long chest, leaving a strip of his stomach exposed, his jeans so low that dark hairs whisper and lurk just above the waist.

“I spoil you,” she clarifies, but she blows him a kiss in her reflection in the mirror.

 

Mandy’s basement is almost completely dark and strewn with bored, demented freshmen, and Jared can only lament that it’s too dark for Daniel to see his Joy Division shirt.

He settles in next to his ghost boy on the floor and leans back against the edge of the couch, trying to look like he doesn’t care about much of anything while Erica curls up beside him.

“Hey,” he says while Matt and Sydney argue over how to hook up the VCR one of them brought over, catching Daniel’s profile in the watery light from the lamp across the room.

“Hey,” Daniel echoes, so soft, like he doesn’t have the strength for more. Jared’s dick throbs in his jeans. He’s wearing that same black hoodie and his dirty black jeans, his nails bitten back on his pale hands that keep tugging and tugging at his stretched-out sleeves. His eyes are so light they look nearly clear.

Jared takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, hoping Daniel can’t hear it. He feels unsure and eager and so restlessly horny that he can’t even think of anything to say now.

He’s just never been in love before.

“Yesss!” Sydney and Matt highfive as the TV finally comes on. “Hit the light.”

It goes pitch-black and a shitty quality, garbled video starts up, the sound distorted and low. Everyone shuts the fuck up and shifts forward, all eyes trained on the screen.

A girl comes into focus screen, naked and tied to a chair, her blonde hair wild and in her face, her skinny body smeared with blood. There’s wire cutting into her wrists bound to the arms of the chair and her pretty face is tear-stained, her eyes wide and staring off-camera. She’s frozen.

Daniel makes a noise beside him, a tiny, wounded noise like a caught rabbit. Jared shifts and tugs on his jeans as his dick stiffens between his legs.

Erica’s smuggled snuff film has every single person in the room entranced, even Jared and Erica herself who have watched their fair share of these stolen tapes from Erica’s uncle’s house.

She doesn’t know where he gets them, doesn’t know why there always seem to be more every time she goes over, and she never asks.

A shadowed man comes in from the left, his knife already dark with blood, and the look on the girl’s face makes Jared’s slit all drippy. 

“Please,” she whispers. Jared feels the room move all at once, not a single person breathing.

“Please,” Daniel breathes, an echo, an instinct. Jared glances over at him, at his watery, unblinking eyes, at his lashes that are so blonde they’re transparent. He so, so slowly brings his hand down to rest beside Daniel’s on the scratchy carpet, the curved tip of his thumb skirting along the side of Daniel’s bony, cold hand.

The knife slides down her cheek, her neck, and over the curve of her breast before it slices through her tight, perfect nipples, first one and then the other, cutting them off like they’re nothing. 

Daniel moves closer to him as her screams turn to sobs and he presses right along Jared’s side, his body tiny and shivery and not at all warm enough to be a living person. Jared wraps an arm around him as his heart nearly races out of his chest, his eyes trained straight ahead where the girl is slowly being eviscerated, her cheerleader-flat belly split in half, spilling bright, slick guts into her lap.

Daniel is like a live-wire now, his chest jumpy as he sucks in uneven little breaths, one of his blue-veined white hands slipping between Jared’s legs, closing right in on his dick that is blood-heavy and starve-hard, bulging obscenely in the dark through his pants.

His lashes flutter but he forces his eyes to stay open, forces himself to watch the knife’s journey down into the splay of her blood-slicked thighs, and the way she’s pink inside is like something Jared has only imagined in his sharpest, filthiest fantasies.

Daniel kneads his dick as his stale, whisper-pink mouth ghosts across Jared’s ear, not saying a word but Jared hears the poetry of it, hears the plea in this unwashed, fragile boy.

“I bet you’re just as pink inside,” Jared whispers, pressing a hand down on top of Daniel’s, forcing him to rub harder, to grip him more. “Aren’t you?”

The girl’s blurred, raw-throated screams take over the room as Jared licks into Daniel’s mouth for the first time, tasting acrid, dirty teeth and cloves and wishing he had the guts to sink his teeth right into Daniel’s bottom lip and taste his blood.

 

“Fuck me,” Daniel whispers against his mouth, his thin thighs clutched up tight around Jared’s hips, his asshole dry and so fucking tight, too tight. “Make me bleed.”

Jared grits his teeth and presses Daniel hard against the wall in Mandy’s guest bathroom, trying to stay quiet while everybody else watches the video a few feet away. His spit didn’t do much to lube Daniel up, but his dick is forcing him open, punching into him and hollowing him out with each hungry thrust.

“Please,” Daniel breathes, so lifeless and light in Jared’s arms, like he’s already gone, a corpse the second Jared touched him, a fleeting, painful love. He drags Jared’s hand up to his throat, staring right into his eyes in the faint moonlight from the window.

 _Choke me_ , his trembling fingers say.

“I love you,” Jared sighs as he comes inside of Daniel’s choking guts, staining red with white and squeezing his delicate throat hard enough to make Daniel soak their sweaty bellies with cloudy, weak spunk.

He pulls out and drops to his knees, his mouth open like a hungry dog as he sniffs out Daniel’s popped cherry, tasting more blood than come as he starts to suck him clean.

 

The first song Jared learns on guitar is “Interstate Love Song.” 

He’s obsessive, playing until the tips of his fingers start to bleed and Erica has to force him to stop so she can wrap them in Hello Kitty band-aids and beg him to take a break.

He starts a band with Erica’s boyfriend Jordan, and they finally settle on calling themselves The Burnouts. Jordan can’t do much but brood and groan out lyrics, so Jared takes it upon himself to start writing songs instead of just covering Soundgarden and fucking Silverchair. 

He writes about sleeping too much and how much he hates pretty much everybody, he writes about pretty boys and his insatiable cock and how ready he is to fuck at any minute of any fucking day. He writes about Daniel and how he’s been dead for almost two years, writes about Daniel’s ghost haunting him and the taste of his blood and he writes about how much he hates Texas, hates high school, hates himfuckingself.

Jordan decides Jared’s lyrics are way too goddamn gay and kicks him out of the band.

Newly single and prettier than Courtney Love, Erica starts her own band with Jared. They call themselves Happenstance, and Erica snarls out every word Jared writes like they’re her own. They drop out of high school and hit the road when school starts to conflict with potential gigs, and they’ve only been a band for a year and a half when they land a job on a tour opening for a dirty-fuck metal band called Bloody Rosebuds.

 

Filthy from the three hour drive from San Antonio and already so fucking sick of Houston, Jared only knocks once before he opens the door to the closet-sized dressing room at the bar they’re playing.

There’s a guy sprawled on the couch taking up one whole wall across from the finger-smudged mirror, and there’s a boy of questionable age on his lap, moving in practiced, deep curls that tell Jared this is not his first ride on a dick.

He stops in the open doorway, bag slipping from his shoulder, and his mouth falls open as he starts to apologize.

“Nah, come on in,” the guy says, one hand on the boy’s tiny ass, tugging on it enough that Jared can see his fat cock moving bare and slick in a hole so tight it pulls out with every upward tip of the boy’s body. “You must be Jared.”

Jared closes the door behind him and leans back against it, absolutely entranced by the scene playing out in front of him, his dick taking an immediate interest in the sounds the boy is trying so hard not to make.

“Y-Yeah,” he manages.

“Jeff. Lead singer of the Rosebuds,” the guy says, his smile so content and filthy that Jared almost blushes. “Go ahead and do what you need to do. You can stay and watch if you want. Or you can have him next. He’ll be nice and broken in when I’m done with him.”

“I bet he will,” Jared murmurs, taking a few steps into the room and hesitating for only a second before he slides a hand across the boy’s curved back, drawing a deep shiver out of him that makes Jeff groan.

Jared sits down on the couch next to Jeff, his bag kicked off to one side and forgotten. Erica is back at the motel room, showering and getting ready in a relatively clean space, and they’ve got three hours before they have to be onstage.

He looks up and finds the boy’s eyes on him, and he holds that fuck-drunk, teenage gaze as he undoes his pants and reaches in to pull his dick out. The first stroke makes him sigh and settle back on the couch, the smell of dick and young boy sweat making him feel right at home.

“Welcome to life on the road, boy,” Jeff says against his ear.


End file.
